


Diumvirate

by ReynardtheFox



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: A series of non chronological snippets, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fish Mooney POV, Fish and Oswald rule Gotham together, M/M, Relationship Study, Riddlebird is kind of in the background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReynardtheFox/pseuds/ReynardtheFox
Summary: [Noun] A coalition of two people having joint authority or influence.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Fish Mooney, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 17
Kudos: 27





	1. Divergence Point

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be less a coherent story and more a series of snippets from Fish's perspective. I'm just posting them as I write them, so the whole thing is gonna be out of order probably.

"Fish!"  
  
The cry is the only warning she gets before Oswald darts out of cover to pull her back. An instant later, her side explodes in a sharp pain as a sword cuts across her ribs, skimming over the bone and what feels like every nerve on that half of her body. She nearly drops the antidote, except Oswald catches her, steadies her as he drags her away from the virus frenzied Jim Gordon.  
  
"Victor, help her." A shoulder comes up under her arm, and then she is leaning against Fries as Oswald pulls off his jacket and presses the fabric to the gash in her side. She shift the antidote to her other hand, and presses the jacket to the wound, trying to stem as much of the bleeding as possible. It's not immediately lethal, she can tell that much, but she can't afford to be woozy or unconscious right now. This is the time for them to get out of here as quickly as possible  
  
So naturally, this is also when the GCPD bursts in to arrest them all. "Go!" Oswald barks, and they all scatter, Fries practically carrying her as they run. By some miracle, they manage to shake the police, and make it back to the safehouse in one piece, antidote in hand. Bridgit is already there with a woman Fish doesn't recognize. Oswald is not.  
  
"GCPD took him," Bridgit reports as the woman in green starts looking over Fish's wound. "Strange too."  
  
Fish nods. With Oswald's leg, she's not surprised they caught him, but so long as Harvey can restrain James Gordon, it's not a concern. They have the antidote—all they have to do is include Oswald's safe return as part of their demands to the city council.  
  
A few hours later, it turns out that even that is unnecessary. Her Penguin has always excelled at turning chaotic situations to his advantage, and has evidently escaped, calling for backup in a plot to ensnare Edward Nygma.  
  
Ivy's bandages and poultices work shockingly well, and Fish feels well enough to tag along to watch, hiding by the pier as this strange green man drives up, and marches Oswald to the water at gunpoint. She's too far to hear what they're saying, but she's close enough to see the man pull the trigger; close enough to see something in Oswald's eyes gutter out as he does.  
  
Oswald pulls out a handful of bullets, and she takes it as her cue to emerge, flanked on either side by Ivy and Fries. She says nothing as the two speak, every word dripping with history she isn't privy to. She simply stands silently at Oswald's side as they watch Fries do his work  
  
"You let him point a gun at you." She says when they return to her hideout, ice block in tow.  
  
"Unloaded." He says, already grabbing a bottle and glass off the shelves. "A little trick I picked up from Maroni."  
  
"You knew he would shoot you."  
  
He pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and downs the whole thing, slumping onto the sofa. "I hoped he wouldn't."  
  
She pours herself a glass, and refills his. "Who was he?" She asks. The alcohol is a relief, dulling the pain throbbing along her ribs, but she does her best to keep a clear head for this conversation.  
  
Oswald is silent long enough to drink this 50 year old whiskey like it's water, finishing the glass far too quickly. And then he tells her, about being found in the woods, being nursed back to health, and learning to care for this eager fledgling murderer.  
  
_For some men, love is a source of strength. But for you and I it will always be our most crippling weakness._  
  
He tells her about visits to Arkham, long nights spent conversing over dinner at his mansion, the feeling of something slotting into place in his heart as he stares at a slender, bruised neck.  
  
_No matter what she is planning, just remember: penguins eat fish._  
  
He tells her about greed, about longing, about selflessness, about love and loss and grief and rage and pain and pain and pain and pain.  
  
Fish sits by his side as he begins to weep, and pulls him to her, mindful of her injury. With no one to impress or perform for, he is a quiet crier, the only indication of his hurt the tremor in his shoulders, and the occasional hitching sob as he hunches over, leaning into her touch.  
  
There is a part of her that wishes she could teach him to harden his heart, to discard any sentimentality or lingering affection. But it would be utterly hypocritical of her. Sentimentality is the only reason she didn't snap his neck that night under the bridge. Lingering affection is the only reason he didn't put her down in the woods like a rabid dog. They are people who have always worn their bleeding hearts on their sleeves, and they will never change.  
  
Instead, she just holds him close through the night, stroking his hair as he cries.


	2. The Penguin, the Fish and the Falcon

"You know, my dear, I never thought I'd see the day." Carmine says slowly as their drinks are poured.  
  
"That Oswald and I would be ruling as partners?" After all, the last time Carmine saw either of them, Oswald was chasing her onto a roof after gunning down her men. "It is funny how these things happen, isn't it?" Fish shrugs, glancing at Penguin. He has his hair up today in a windswept crest, eyeshadow darker than normal, and wearing a jacket edged with fur dyed a deep, royal purple—all deliberate choices to match her wardrobe, to present a united front. But Oswald doesn't look back at her, instead carefully studying their old Don.  
  
"No." he says slowly. "He means he never thought that freaks would ever be the ones running Gotham."  
  
Carmine inclines his head, just a hair, and a familiar fury bubbles up inside of Fish. After all this time, after everything that's happened, Carmine Falcone still thinks he's better than them. Never mind that Fish had nearly gotten him with Liza, never mind that Oswald had played both of them for fools, and Maroni too. Never mind that they saved Gotham from the Tetch virus and halved the crime rate in this city. She and Oswald have both risen from nothing to the top over and over again with every disadvantage, and Falcone still thinks he's better than them.  
  
The rage settles almost as quickly as it comes. Carmine Falcone no longer matters, hasn't mattered in years. Gotham has changed, moving away from the era of old fashioned mobsters into a new, more chaotic world. Fish and Oswald rule now, and it's only respect for their collective past that even sees Falcone sitting at the same table as them.  
  
"I've come," Carmine says, "to collect my wayward daughter."  
  
Oswald's smile is as cold and sharp as a scalpel, and Fish knows if he opens his mouth he'll say something they'll all regret. "Of course." Fish says first, and Oswald settles down, letting her take the lead. "I'm afraid we've had to be somewhat rough with her, but she's alive and well. Nothing she won't heal from." She leans forwards, finger tracing the rim of her wineglass. "So long as you keep a proper leash on her in the future, we'll allow her to walk away from Gotham, just this once. As a courtesy for an old friend."  
  
"Thank you." Carmine takes his glass, and raises it to the two of them. "I've been overly indulgent with her, it seems. Children..." His lips twist into a bitter, exhausted smile. "Children can be such disappointments."  
  
Not always, Fish doesn't say. But meeting Carmine's eyes, watching him glance at her little Penguin, she knows he's heard it anyways.  
  
In this, at least, he cannot even pretend to be better than her. 


	3. Settling In

As the dust settles, and the city resentfully acquiesces to their demands, the question emerges: how do they split it?   
  
Fish has been a mobster long enough to know how the traditional way this sort of partnership would work. They'd divide their forces, their territory, their loot, and go their separate ways as friends and allies.   
  
And then Gotham would be right back where it started—one city, two dons, each too ambitious to ever give up their dreams of ruling it all. With their temperaments, they would have maybe a year of tense smiles and polite trades and probing skirmishes before devolving into all out war.   
  
Fish refuses to let that happen. Damn tradition—this is a new era, for a new Gotham to rise from the flames.   
  
Her proposal is as such: rather than splitting territory, they will rule Gotham as two, splitting duties, entwining their influence and resources, forcing them to trust and rely on one another to keep their new empire from collapsing.   
  
Oswald accepts, and they set about discussing terms. Some decisions are easy: Oswald is better at dealing with enemies, Fish is better at recruiting and keeping allies. Fish still has deep roots in the underworld, Oswald still has social and political connections from his time as mayor. Oswald knows how to make and move money legally, Fish knows the flow of goods, legal and illegal, like the back of her hand. Everything else falls into place from there.   
  
They settle on rules between them. They don't contradict each other in public (Fish's suggestion). They discuss all major decisions in private (Oswald's). They solve disagreements with a strict system of favors between them (Fish's). They meet weekly to touch base and plan. (Oswald's).  
  
The two are careful around each other, the first few months of their arrangement. They have been many things to each other, but never equals, never partners, and they are both of them controlling, hot tempered people. Neither are used to sharing power, especially not with someone so similar to themselves.   
  
There's no precedent for this sort of arrangement, no rulebook or protocol. No one knows what to expect, and it feels like the whole city is on edge for half a year, waiting for Gotham's underworld to explode into war; and yet, somehow...   
  
They make it work. There are a few close calls, but they all follow the same pattern: one of them oversteps; the other snaps their teeth; they growl and posture at each other in private; they bite their tongues and renegotiate. They are both proud, but not unreasonable. And neither of them want to fuck up a good thing.  
  
It helps that they both know that Fish could never bring herself to push Oswald out. It lets him trust her in a way she can see he isn't used to, stops him from lashing out as if every misstep could herald a betrayal. She has no such assurances about him, of course. But she can't forget the panicked way he'd cried out her name as he pulled her to safety, or the way he'd shucked off his jacket without a thought to press it to her wound.   
  
She still has the scar along her ribs, and every time she starts to wonder, every time her paranoia gets the better of her, she touches it, and remembers how close she came to dying again, how easily Oswald could have been rid of her.   
  
And slowly, but surely, she starts to believe that they can make this last. 


	4. Respect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild offhand mention of homophobia, racism, ableism, sexism.

The map of Gotham takes up the entire west wall of what used to be a study in the Van Dahl mansion. Along the edges, Oswald has pinned pictures of all the major players in the city, marking off territory and connecting alliances with string and pins. It's really quite impressively organized, Fish has to admit.  
  
"What about the Poles?" Oswald asks, nursing a glass of wine by the fire, cane laid across his lap.  
  
"Janacek, maybe." Fish scowled. "But not Turski—he could barely stand me when I was just one of Falcone's capos, and now that I'm his new boss... You saw how that last talk went—he was just itching to start a fight with us."  
  
He wasn't the only one. They'd only just finished their first round of meetings with the various scattered factions of Gotham, and while many of the newer gangs—especially those that came to prominence during Oswald's previous reigns—had proved agreeable enough, the older, more established families...  
  
It sets her damn teeth on edge, makes her want to rip out someone's throat with her nails. The sheer cheek, bordering on disrespect from most of the old guard—none of them would ever have spoken to Falcone or Maroni like that. Even when they were enemies, they would have shown some deference, some respect to the old Dons.  
  
But for a black woman and a crippled little queer?  
  
Nothing. Nothing but thinly veiled contempt and resentment.  
  
"We could replace him." Oswald suggests. "Janacek is next in line if Turski gets into an accident. The Irish and the Russians should fall in line once they see that."  
  
"What about the Hungarians?"  
  
"Szabo and his family will come around regardless." Oswald assures her. "They're wary for now, but Falcone never treated them particularly well. As long as business is good for them, they'll be happy to work under us."  
  
"You'll deal with them, then?" She asks. It's funny, how something as simple as a shared nationality could turn a potential enemy into an ally. Oswald nods, and Fish moves on, running her fingers over the pictures pinned to the map.  
  
"What about the Greeks?" Oswald asks. "Samaras the younger's been encouraging resentment against us as a show of strength to push out his father. And Burnley's one of the most profitable districts too—a coup from there will cut into our profits quite a bit."  
  
"True enough. The father's no good either. Too greedy to be loyal, too stupid to be useful." Fish taps at her chin, and begins to pace.  
  
"The next successor is the son, and after that..." Oswald picks up his cane, and gestures with it at the corner of the map. "The next two in line are old Maroni loyaltists. I remember they share his sensibilities." His lips twitch into a smirk. "Babes."  
  
Fish rolls her eyes at him. "We can't kill our way through the Greek mob." She says. "Not directly. But..." She flips through her memories, scanning the map for.... There. Crouching down, she plucks a picture from the pile, and turns to wave it at Oswald. "I seem to recall Samaras had a daughter. He barely seems to remember she exists, but she's a clever girl."  
  
"And on bad terms with her brother." Oswald laughs. "Perhaps we should pay her a visit."  
  
"Perhaps we should."  
  
It's a new day in Gotham. It's time people got used to some new leadership. 


	5. Violence

A pattern emerges over time.  
  
Guns are cold and emotionless, no hard feelings, it's all just business. A bullet to the head means mercy, someone who had to die but had no reason to suffer. Making an example, tying off loose ends. A shot in the kneecaps is to cripple, to take someone out of the game without killing them. A kindness, really. One in the shoulder is a warning: next time we won't be so nice.  
  
Blades are for enjoyment. The knives come out when they want to feel blood gushing over their fingers, when they want to take their time so they can gloat and revel. Penguin favors the dagger in his cane, short enough to cut throats, long enough to impale. Everyone learn to step back when he draws it, get out of the way of the inevitable splash. Fish kept the knife Gordon stabbed her with, but prefers shorter weapons, switchblades and pocket knives. Her kills are cleaner, but no less brutal. Red always **has** been her color.  
  
Blunt trauma is for pain, for torture, for screams, for punishment or revenge. In quiet moments, away from prying ears, stories get told about how the Penguin got his limp: Fish had wanted to hurt him as badly as his betrayal had hurt her, they whisper. She'd taken a dozen swings at his leg with a baseball bat, crying all the while. It had taken Butch Gilzean wrestling her away to make her stop.  
  
 _(Honestly, the things people say, Fish huffs when she hears. If I'd hit you any harder than I did back then, you wouldn't be walking now. Oswald just laughs. I'm flattered people thought I was important enough for you to cry over back then.)_  
  
Miscellaneous objects are for impulsive rage: a whiskey glass to the face, a candlestick to the ribs, _(a chair to the side, a pin through the hand)_. People learn to duck when Fish and Penguin get angry. Penguin's fury comes and goes quickly—Fish is harder to rouse but slower to calm. But they rarely, if ever kill on impulse _(anymore. Oswald has learned over the years to reign in his murderous temper)_. The real danger comes when they calm down, and reach for the real weapons.  
  
Bare hands are for simple reprimands. An underboss of the Street Demonz makes the mistake of interrupting Fish during a meeting, and without missing a beat, Penguin reaches out and slams the man's head into the table. A new capo makes one too many excuses for missing her quota, and earns a slap and scratches across her face from Fish's nails. It happens rarely, but it's impactful every time—there's something deeply humiliating for most criminals about being smacked about by the two smallest people in the room.  
  
Fish and Penguin share a language of violence, and slowly, but surely, all of Gotham learns. 


End file.
